


Named for Greatness

by Nehszriah



Series: The Teacher, the Media Man, and the President of the United States [8]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, F/M, Gen, Kid Fic, Prompt Fic, he's so sad when he's worn down, reasons to name a kid, tired!Malcolm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:52:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being released from prison, Malcolm gets to meet his son for the first time. Clara, however, has some questions about where little Daniel's name came from.</p><p>[Takes place within Keep Your Secrets Close and Your Mentors Closer]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Named for Greatness

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I wrote this prompt fill back in APRIL, ffs how did it take this long for me to upload it here.
> 
> As far as its place within the storyline, it takes place roughly two years after the Goolding Inquiry in the TTOI canon, and before Courtney comes to visit her old mentors within the series' canon.

It was Sam that was waiting there to pick him up.

Oh Sam; loyal, kind, actually-intelligent Sam. She gently put an arm around him as they walked to the car. It was a nice car—her car. She worked for some industry hotshot now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find time for those worth the time. Malcolm tried to keep the waterworks to a minimum, but when she gave his knee a kind pat he couldn’t help but shed a few tears. Only a few though. He may have been old and broken and on his way to pasture, but he needed to keep some bit of dignity about him.

The drive was long—much longer than expected. It wound through back country roads and little towns with barely a pub and post office. They stopped for tea in one of the towns, and it was nice. The lady at the shop thought he was Sam’s uncle and he went along with it. There was no reason not to be now, he reasoned as she lectured him while pulling out of the tiny carpark. All the sugar he had dumped in his tea was going to his head, she claimed. No matter… let people think what they wish. They didn’t recognize him from the tabloids and smear-columns, at least, and for that he would be almost anyone’s elderly uncle.

Except Olly’s, of course. He did still have _some_ sense of standards.

It was nearly midafternoon by the time Sam pulled into the secluded drive of a place Malcolm only knew from photos. Small, cozy, perfect for a family of three; he got out of the car and spent a moment staring at the vine-covered façade before walking in without knocking. He didn’t have to knock, because this was now home.

Sam followed him in, making sure he actually made it past the foyer and into the main of the house. Looking around, he felt as if he had merely been away on that long business trip, and not entering the building for the first time. It was just as cozy on the inside as it was on the outside, with things from his house in London decorating the space. The one thing that had not been in London that was definitely taking up a significant portion of the sitting room was a soft, colorful play cot, occupied by a little boy who looked up at them with wide, brown eyes before shrieking in delight.

“Daniel, what is it _now_?” called a voice from the other room. It was sweet, angelic, music to Malcolm’s ears, having not heard her in eighteen long months. Clara walked in to the room and jumped at the sight of her husband and friend. “Oh! I thought your text said you were twenty minutes away yet!”

“I must have been thrown off by hitting the train last time I came out,” Sam apologized. “I hope it’s alright…”

“Of course it is,” Clara said, approaching her husband, who had gone glazed in the face, and wrapped her arms around his midsection. “Welcome home.”

Malcolm kissed his wife on the head and rubbed her back, simply grateful to be in her arms again. After unsuccessfully trying to convince Sam to stay for dinner, Clara picked the toddler out of the play cot and passed him over to his father after he sat down in an armchair.

“Hey there now,” Malcolm chuckled weakly as the boy wiggled in his arms. “Sorry it took me so long to get here, Daniel. Thanks for taking care of your mam for me while I was gone. I promise not to do that to you again for a long time yet.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” Clara said, sitting down on the chair’s armrest. She draped an arm around his neck and sighed. “I still don’t believe you did any of that on purpose.”

“Not here nor there anymore, love,” he replied, tickling his son under the chin. “I’m out for good. Whitehall isn’t going to see the likes of me unless Daniel needs a chaperone for a school trip.”

“You never did explain that to me,” she said.

“Explained what?”

“Daniel’s name,” Clara clarified. “I know you were insistent in your letter once I told you we were having a boy, and I can understand double-barreling his surname, but you never did tell me why _Daniel_.”

“I like the name, is all,” he claimed. Malcolm brushed the boy’s bangs from his face and smiled softly at his chubby cheeks. “Besides, what’s that story about Daniel and the lions?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in all that,” she said.

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t decent stories.” He kissed the side of his son’s head and drew him in close. “One day you’re going to be thrown to the lions, Daniel. With your Ma an’ Da’s blood in you, the day will come whether we want it to or not. Instead, when your back is against the wall, I want you to remember that story and weasel your way out of danger. Now it’s not only in your blood, but it’s also in your name. You can’t be fucked with, my boy.”

“Daniel Malcolm Oswald-Tucker, even when he couldn’t be there your father was looking out for you,” Clara cooed. She bent down and kissed her son on the nose, eliciting a giggle, and her husband on the lips, reigniting the desire he had just spent the past year and a half quelling into a pent-up sense of yearning.

“I’m never going to fucking lose you again, sweetheart,” he swore as they parted. “Our boy will know his old man, and not as some photo on the wall. Now I’m not bound by a job that’ll take me up the arse thrice a day without so much as a thank you, and I can be better to you.”

“I like the sound of that,” she purred, leaning in close to his ear. “We do have a cupboard big enough to keep one part of the Whitehall days alive though… one that I don’t think you’ll mind.”

Malcolm grinned at that. “You minx; we’ve got plenty of ten o’clocks to make up for, don’t we?”

“That we do.”


End file.
